


Simple business transactions

by OrphanText



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Sex Shop, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 22:43:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2484926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrphanText/pseuds/OrphanText
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how a small town came to have one sex shop, then two, and then one and a new bookstore.</p><p>Or the one where Dean and Castiel are rival sex shop owners. Human!AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple business transactions

**Author's Note:**

> To the-floral-dragon on tumblr, whose post (http://the-floral-dragon.tumblr.com/post/83957088054/sex-shop-au-dean-and-cas-own-rival-sex-shops) have inspired this fic when I was running a 40 degree fever.
> 
> To Sam, who was endlessly encouraging and then subsequently informed me that there was a small town with two sex shops but was also the teen pregnancy, illegal immigration, drug use, gang violence, and std capital of the region. You're the best.
> 
> Many thanks and dildos to ice-evanesco who had to sit through my poopy fic and poopy grammar for two days.
> 
> Written with near little to no knowledge of SPN prior (I started off with Season 10) and also with a raging fever, and subsequently with more dubious states of mind.

The man glowered at him, gaze going between him and the object on the counter. “No,” he said, and looked as though it took every ounce of patience that he possessed to not simply leave.

 

“We have member benefits,” Dean pointed out, as he did every other week whenever the man came in. It was a routine that he enjoyed very much, to the other’s annoyance. “10% off storewide for the year that your membership is valid, free batteries with any battery-operated toy purchase, birthday discounts-”

 

“I do not wish to sign up for your membership.”

 

They stared at each other for a beat.

 

“20% off storewide during your birthday month.”

 

“I said,” the man drew in a breath, frowning even more. “No.”

 

“If you’re sure. Just making sure that you’re not missing out.” He ran the item through the scanner, and shook out the most ostentatious paper bag that they owned, glossy black and neon pink, and placed the toy in it. “That will be fifty.”

 

The man stuck his arm out, a crisp fifty dollar note in his hand which Dean plucked from and replaced with the receipt. “All items sold are non-refundable.”

 

The money exchange completed, the man gathered up the bag and went for the door, back ramrod straight. The bells jangled as the door swung closed behind him. Dean watched him through the glass windows as he crossed the street with his purchase, disappearing into the shop across from his.

 

Dean was very sure he could do better than Icicles No.2 come next week, anyway.

 

It came as a bit of a surprise to everyone, but Castiel was the one who started the whole affair.

 

Two months ago, In & Out was comfortably secure as the only establishment in the industry for miles around. Need your condoms ultra fancy? Or your lube a touch more stimulating? In & Out was the loud answer, particularly for men trying to please their girlfriends, or those who were a little too bored with their own hand. In & Out didn’t judge, either way, all neon signs and photos of flirty girls in various stages of undress splashed outside the storefront. Stocked to the ceiling with dildos, DVDs, naughty outfits, and all sorts of toys and equipment to help people get their hots on in the bedroom. It was the shop that people ducked in with their heads low and shoulders slouched, then reappeared with a somewhat discreet bag, if they were nice customers, polite, and didn’t ask too many questions. It was a shop selling sex products, what kind of advice did you expect to get? Dean could dish out cleaning and sterilizing advice, as well as shop policies, but when it comes to size or anything else, you just take it, slather it in lube, and stick it up wherever you want it to go and go to town. So long as it fits. Whatever. Anything else was printed on the packaging and available on the internet. Which mean that even if people didn’t jam with his service and way of conducting business, they had no other options.

 

And then, Angels had opened up directly opposite him, effectively turning the street into sex avenue, and also taking half his customer base away from him.

 

Angels was everything that In & Out wasn’t, and Dean didn’t mean that by the severe lack of busty blondes adorning Angels’ shop front. Where In & Out was loud, raunchy, and brash, Angels was the quaint little cousin with the clean glass displays, snow-driven white doors and shelves and minimal shop interior deco. It was clean, sleek, and quiet with a modern flair, so to say. No one had been sure what it would be while the construction was still going on, and had been speculating on a new cafe or a bookstore up till the products began arriving and the shelves filled themselves in.

 

Dean had said about a week in that Angels was a shop that only virgins would patronize.

 

Sex was a messy and primal affair, and Dean saw no point in trying to disguise it as something tame and civilised to make it palatable. It was what caused divorces when you realized that your significant other farted in bed while you were sleeping, inclusive of all the other messy biological affairs the human body was often up to that people pretended they didn’t have. So, when he had seen the brochures, and the neat little discreet packaging, he had scoffed, and ignored Sam’s advice on changing his business model, that Angels could very well give In & Out fierce competition, and had returned to his top-shelf magazine, unconcerned.

 

Soon after Angels started its business, Dean saw a split in their clientele, and a noteworthy decline in their account books. Where people only had his business to turn to before, now he entertains primarily male clients, females flocking instead to the shop opposite his, with the occasional couple. He tells himself that he doesn’t miss the giggling girls who would poke, shake and giggle at the products, but apparently there is a limit on seeing only gruff and sometimes leery, intoxicated old men in the shop for the entire day.

 

“Its your face, darling,” said the old lady, currently clutching a butt plug and frowning at him disapprovingly over the top of her spectacles. Dean suspects that she may or may not have a dead kitten stuffed in her purple handbag.

 

“Sorry, what?” Dean had to put down his magazine for a second, to grimace at her. Showing people your teeth was close to a smile, anyway. Or as close as he could manage.

 

“Your service is atrocious,” the old lady said. “But your face makes it doubly so. Very unfriendly. Castiel, on the other hand, is a dear.”

 

“Who?”

 

“He’ll clean your shop out of customers in no time, sweetheart.”

 

Castiel, he eventually learns, is the owner of Angels. Who is apparently friendly, helpful, knowledgeable, handsome, kind, courteous, patient, and all other adjectives and synonyms that basically sums up to how wonderful a person he is.

 

Dean experienced none of the above when he did meet Castiel for the first time, in person.

 

“It is the undesirable conduct of your person and your business that repels your customers, not simply because they are girls,” Castiel had said, and brought his hands up and Dean cannot believe that people are still using air quotes.

 

“Now look here, you,” Dean had jabbed his finger at him. “Don’t get to tell me how to run my business- “

 

“And you don’t get to insult my customers,” Castiel had cut in smoothly, intense gaze and quiet demeanor and Dean thinks this is exactly how he stole his customers from him. Girls go for brooding and mysterious. Pretty apparently no longer cut it if Fifty Shades of Grey being a bestseller was anything to go by.

 

“Perhaps you should do more research into your customer base.” Castiel had waited until Dean opened his mouth again, speaking before Dean could get a word in. He turned to look at the shop front display Dean was standing in front of, glancing over the neatly arranged toys behind the spotless glass. “But of course, it is not my place to tell you how exactly to run your business.”

 

“Damn right its not your business,” Dean spluttered, because, wow, what a dick. “Is this how you get the girls? Through a sex shop? Because that’s criminal, and,” he spluttered again, for good measure.

 

“Pardon me?” Castiel turns back to him, brow knitting into a frown, and head tilted, pinning Dean under that horribly invasive blue stare. It’s been barely three minutes and Dean is already uncomfortable. He has no idea how Angels’ customers feel when they’re in there. Maybe its a kink. He wouldn’t know. “Would you care to repeat that for me?”

 

“You smuggle them, don’t you? Human trafficking.” Dean was horrified and wide-eyed. He thought of ropes, and handcuffs, and the various implements that could be used against anyone who walked into the shop unknowingly. Those blue eyes were narrowing, and that wasn’t a good news, was it? Not from a potential human trafficker.

 

“I run a perfectly respectable and honourable business,” Castiel said gravely, eyeing Dean as though he were mentally unstable. “If there is nothing else, you will have to excuse me.”

 

“I will be watching for you in the headline news,” Dean yelled after him as the glass door swung shut behind Castiel and what looked like his groceries. And because he wasn’t an obvious creep, he retreated back into his own shop, keeping a wary eye on it for the rest of the day.

 

“He,” Sam groaned from beneath the book propped up on his face. “Is not a criminal. Dean, Stop.”

 

“Just you wait,” Dean had said, obsessively staring at Angels’, hunched over the takeaway Sam had bought him. “There will be a day when one of them walks in, and never walks out, and bam.” He smacked the counter with an open palm. “I told you so.”

 

Sam only groaned louder, but since Dean wasn’t complaining about the carrot sticks, he had to count his blessings.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the days that followed, Dean applied himself to watching out for the neighbourhood like the good citizen that he was. It made sense, since he was the one with the best vantage, and also the best excuse to keep an eye on the new neighbourhood creep, the responsibility of keeping the females in the area safe was down to him. After all, there were many people out there who would simply like to hurt another human being just for the sake of it, and it wasn’t like he had to go out of his way to do so. Just doing his job on top of doing his job.

 

If he had to sacrifice a little good standing with the locals by coming across as slightly creepy, he figured it was worth it for everyone’s safety.

 

The first thing he learnt was: Castiel was boring.

 

He walked into his shop with a croissant in a paper bag and a cup of organic coffee from the cafe down the road at 10 every morning. At 1100, he would flip the sign on the door from Closed to Open. There weren’t many customers in the first half of the day, so Dean could usually keep an eye on him while doing the inventory and the displays. At two, Castiel will emerge from his shop, tousled dark hair and trench coat and not return until an hour later to have lunch. On occasion, he does the groceries as well, and will return with many plastic bags in tow. After that, Dean will usually juggle doing the accounts and keeping a careful eye on the girls who will drop by Angels after college.

 

By four, the evening crowd would begin to slowly filter in, and Dean would be pulled away from the windows to attend to his own customers. He didn’t see it as a bad thing, however, knowing that information could be obtained via other methods instead of the good old staking out.

 

It was amazing how much information a smile could get a person, which was why it was all the more impertinent that he watch over the innocent citizens who simply had too much good faith in people. Any bloke who was being too helpful had to have an ulterior motive, himself included.

 

Castiel was, to his understanding, extremely helpful as and whenever physically possible.

 

He also, unlike Dean’s own practice of allowing his customers to poke around in his store with some semblance of privacy by proxy of pretending that they weren’t there, usually followed his customers around offering unsolicited pieces of advice and information.

 

Dean found it creepy. The customers thought it was rather lovely of him to do so.

 

“He’s pulling one over everyone’s eyes!” Dean put down a dildo down unnecessarily hard after another customer walked out of their shop with a discreet bag in hand from them, and a brochure from Angels clutched in the other. Apparently, Angels did not carry the toy that she wanted, and so Castiel had directed them over instead. It was business, but as Dean had made it clear to Sam, he wasn’t that low on business yet, he didn’t need charity, and also they usually looked at him like he was an axe murderer who just broke out of prison and was looking for an excuse to get back in again.

 

Two weeks later, the police paid him a visit.

 

“Dean, this has to stop.” Sam sounded harried, stupidly keeping up with Dean easily because he had long legs and no concept of private time. “People think you’re - this is not normal people behaviour, Dean. This is, this is stalker people behaviour. It has to stop.”

 

Dean stopped abruptly, causing Sam to nearly walk into him. “You’re right.”

 

“Seriously, Dean, everyone is - what?”

 

“I said,” Dean heaved a long suffering sigh, staring down at his shoes stubbornly, hands stuck in the pockets of his jeans. “You’re right.”

 

“Well, that’s,” and Dean keeps silent while Sam stutters around him, evidently not expecting Dean’s easy capitulation on the get go. “That’s great! We were worried. But that’s… that’s good.” He sounded cautiously optimistic, and Dean doesn’t blame him. “If you want to talk...”

 

“No.” This was one of the easier answers to the questions that he had tonight, simple and straightforward. Not over his dead body.

 

“Right. Offer’s there, if you want it later.” Sam gestured awkwardly. “Dinner?”

 

And so, the incident was swept under the rug by both brothers, less so by the residents in town. In the period where In & Out had significantly less customers and Dean only had himself and the crackling radio for company, he sat down with himself and did the inventory and the accounts. It grated, but he did notice that he did make a few mistakes here and there from before. It was, however, a good opportunity to clean up his shop, mop-and-bucket wise and not. The storefront could do with an update, and there were new products that he should be looking into, and shop promotions to handle, as well. Dean shook his head, his work in the shop laid out for him. But being busy was good. Being busy meant being occupied, and it meant being less occupied with Castiel opposite him, who had stopped to stare at his shop when he returned to it after two days of closure for a good two minutes, before disappearing once more behind the glass doors.

 

If this was in the 17th century, Dean would have well thought that Castiel was a witch, and had put a spell on the town, but this wasn’t the 17th century. He briefly entertained the idea of swinging by the bar, but eventually dismissed it in favour of having the shop up to speed for when Valentine’s Day rolled around. That was when sales tended to spike after all.

 

It meant working late and take-out, microwaved lunches in the shop, but Dean welcomed the work, rubbing at the graphite smudges on the side of his hand absent mindedly. He had, too, picked up some business strategies on the customer service side, and that seemed to endear him a little to customers, regaining the ground that was lost. He stayed on late to the scent of coffee growing cold, the shop signs flipped to closed despite of the lights spilling out into the dark streets, behind the counters chewing on the end of a pencil.

 

He was just locking up the shop for the night when the lights in Angels’ went off. Mere moments later, the lights in the unit above Angels’ flickered on, and huh, so that was why he never saw Castiel leave, or why Castiel often ran later hours than he did. He had chalked it up to general possible unscrupulous behaviours before, and later on, work-related obsessions. No doubt he was also preparing for the Valentine’s day business, and Dean wondered if he should drop him a tip about butt plugs. Checked that the locks were secure, Dean fished for his car keys, then paused beside his car. It could have been less than a minute, Dean standing still beneath the streetlight, beside his car, simply revelling in the peace and the quiet and the cold wind through his hair, then the curtains twitched. He looked up at the shadow that cut across the light, and unmistakably, Castiel, before the curtains were pulled close.

 

Dean turned around with a curse on his lips. What would Castiel think, catching him standing beneath his window and staring not long after the police all but stormed into his shop at this hour? He got into his car, wanting to get out of here, intent on hot, greasy fries and a burger, but couldn’t resist a last glance upwards before he drove away. Since when did what Castiel think matter to him anyway? So long as he wasn’t calling the cops on him again. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience, and while innocent, Dean had no wish for a repeat performance. If anything, he wanted a slice of pie to end off the day. It would aid in better dreams, at the very least.

 

And if Castiel was living right above his shop, Dean found himself wondering why Castiel perpetually wanders around with a bedhead if a comb was so readily available upstairs, until he caught himself at it and shoved that thought out of his mind vehemently.

 

It leaves him unsettled for the rest of the night.

 

When Valentine rolled around, Dean was kept busy by the sudden influx of customers, running between register and the aisles to talk to the customers. They loved the promotions, and Dean patted himself on the back for thinking to stock up on potential sale items, and also on the idea of joining up with the small chocolate business further into town for Valentine’s. Gabriel, the owner, had thought it was a lark, and offered a discount for people who showed up with a receipt from In & Out, while In & Out offered a free box of chocolates for every new member who signed up, or anyone with a purchase above $69, which wasn’t a hard target to hit. There was talk about chocolates and aphrodisiacs, and Dean was seriously considering putting in an order for those for Christmas to test the customers’ response for next year’s Valentines.

 

As it was, Dean was busy enough that he could be forgiven for not noticing when the door opened, and shut again. He off-handedly threw a quiet “Welcome” at whoever it was while he sorted out the new membership forms he had gotten from the day from the lunch hour (seriously, though, the lunch hour crowd always bought vibrators) into some semblance of order so that he could better key it in later when he had the free time, possibly after closing. Therefore, he was not to be blamed when he didn’t pay the customer any notice, allowing them to browse freely and only looking up with a polite smile when something was set upon the counter.

 

“Hello,” said Castiel, with his bedhead hair, scouring stare and horrible trench coat. “I’d like to buy this.”

 

For the possibly the next half minute, Dean stared at him in shock, and was only startled out of it when he accidentally upset his box of paper clips.

 

“What,” he spluttered. “Cas.”

 

“Yes,” Castiel said solemnly, still staring at him.

 

“No,” Dean shook his head, because Castiel was breaking his barely strung up thoughts again. “I mean. Yes, why?”

 

“Why you have shortened my name to an abbreviated form despite our apparent hostility towards each other?” Castiel tipped his head to the side, and unless Dean was blind, which he wasn’t, Castiel seemed to be rather amused by it.

 

“You run your own shop!” It came out more forcefully than Dean had liked, and he turned to look out through the window at Angels’.

 

There was a long silence between them, and apparently Castiel had been waiting for more from Dean, until he realized that nothing else was forthcoming. “Yes.”

 

“Is this another ploy to get the cops on my back?” Dean turned on his own stare upon Castiel. Two could play at this game. This was his territory, his rules. “Because its not going to work. And also, I don’t appreciate it.”

 

Castiel tilted his head again, before something like realization came into his eyes. “No. That is not my intention, nor has it ever been.” He paused. “Dean.”

 

“So you are saying that the cops weren’t you?” Dean squinted at him.

 

“That was,” Castiel started, then paused. “Michael. He may have misunderstood.”

 

“What, that I look like a potential murderer?”

 

“He is rather protective.” Castiel cut in before Dean could think of other things to say, stern. “He is my brother.”

 

And yeah, Dean remembers Michael. Hard not to when a guy leaves bruises on your arm for a day or two.

 

“You still have your own shop,” Dean pointed out. “And seriously?”

 

“I am a paying customer,” Castiel answered, his tone final.

 

Dean scowled at him from over the counter, before he picked the toy up and rang it through the register, raising his eyebrows. “Cute. I hope you’re not using me to restock.”

 

“I assure you I have no such intentions.”

 

“$30. Are you sure you don’t want the travel sized one? This one is the normal sized.” Dean grunted, gesturing at the shelf where he had lined them all up on display. Girls usually went for those first, the duckies bright and cheerful and familiar amongst shelves of rubber and silicone dicks. “We have other designs as well.”

 

“This,” Castiel said, opening his wallet while still as solemn as ever, as though purchasing a sex toy was the gravest decision of his life. “Is what I want.”

 

“Right. Uh,” Dean frowned at the yellow duck. “Free chocolates for purchases above $69.”

 

“I am fine, thank you.”

 

“Would you like to sign up for our membership then?” Dean asked wryly, while Castiel frowned at the counter. “Free chocolates.”

 

“I do not find chocolates a good enough incentive to sign up for a membership I do not need.”

 

“Huh.” Dean made a face, and took the money from Castiel. Suppose he was at fault for asking, and maybe Castiel was making the purchase for his date and did not want them to find out that he ran a sex shop. The theory didn’t quite hold, since in a town this small, news travelled fast. “Do you want a bag for this?”

 

“Please,” Castiel tipped his head, and watched as Dean shook out a paper bag while still giving him suspicious looks.

 

“Seriously, why are you here?” Dean put the toy into the bag, and handed it over.

 

The only reply Castiel had was to reach over to take it from him, and walk out of the shop without another word. Dean watched him cross the road with the bag in hand, and walk back into his own shop.

 

Seriously, what the hell.

 

It wasn’t as though Castiel was any short on toys. Somehow, Dean found it hard to believe that Castiel could be underprepared. A scout, then, to check on Dean’s in-store promotions? That, he wouldn’t put it past him. After all, only God knew what Castiel was doing when Dean wasn’t paying attention, too busy making sure that he had down all the information on the membership forms manually. Sam had been urging him to digitize his shop processes, but Dean had stubbornly clung on, and now he was paying for it.

 

He swept the scattered paper clips into a palm, tipping them back into their container, a sourness settling into his chest like acid. Castiel could have been checking out his store inventory and his price tags for all he knew. He could have been jotting them down into a notebook, and Dean wouldn’t have noticed, preoccupied as he was. He could have at least gotten something a little more expensive. Castiel had looked absolutely ridiculous with the I rub my duckie toy at the counter.

 

He didn’t know why he felt so betrayed.

 

Approximately a week later, he finds himself pushing past the glass doors to Angels, dragging in a deep breath to calm himself to be greeted by a strong gust of cold air.

 

The door swung soundlessly close behind him, and Dean stood by the door, blinking in the cool dimness of the store. The quiet humming of the air-conditioning unit was loud in his ears, and he shook himself slightly, unclenching his hands when he realized they were balled up into fists by his side. He drew in another steadying breath, except that it stuttered when the something beige in the corner of his vision moved, and it turned out to be Castiel, now frowning at him over the paperback clutched in his hands.

 

“Uhm, browsing,” Dean said, and immediately went behind the nearest shelf.

 

Hidden from Castiel’s view by the generous shelf of vibrators, Dean allowed himself a brief moment of panic. Just a minute ago he was standing outside, contemplating Castiel’s display, neat and simple and also, strangely colour coordinated, with a beautiful glass dildo as the centerpiece. The next, he had pushed his way in for some reason, his body apparently having decided on something without consulting his brain.

 

Witch, he thought half-heartedly, staring at a rather tame looking vibrator in front of him.

 

Castiel had made for himself a rather cozy space, and despite himself, Dean was impressed. The products were lined up neatly, but not packed in tight close to each other, categorized by product type, and from the way Castiel had arranged them, probably by popularity. He drifted along slowly, taking his time browsing, forgetting that he was supposed to do a quick catalogue of any ongoing promotions Angels was having, and also a check on their price tags. It wasn’t anything particularly exciting—vibrators, dildos, kegel balls, some tasteful lingerie in the corner, lubricants, condoms, and so on, but he could see the appeal for the female audience. Nothing that he would pick up for the big boys or girls, but if he were trying to ease a very nervous beginner into it, he would probably buy the whole shop.

 

Castiel did, however, have a pretty good selection of glass toys. There were catalogues on the shelves, and he flipped through the pages, tilting his head when he saw something he liked. Some of the higher end glass pieces were rather appealing, and Dean thought that it was rather a pity they were a small town shop. No one would ever buy something with that kind of price tag on them no matter what they thought of how it looked or functioned. He would have liked to have something like that displayed in his shop, after all. Would have been proud, even.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

Right now, Dean was very proud of himself for barely even twitching, despite the sudden close proximity Castiel had to him.

 

“Just—browsing,” Dean waved a hand, then dropped it back by his side when he realized how awkward it was. “Nice selection you have here.”

 

“Of course. Thank you.” Castiel inclined his head slightly, and Dean stepped backward when he pressed closer, coincidentally back away from the shelf. He had no idea if Castiel had done it with that intention in mind. “I could help with recommendations. If you like.”

 

“Uh,” Dean stared, brain frantically searching for something to distract Castiel’s solemn stare from himself, and also because the man was now holding a toy in both hands and he had to do something. “Whatever did you do with that duck?”

 

Castiel’s stare dropped down to the glass wand in his hands, and when he looked up, Dean stalled at the hard, almost angry stare. “I do not see how this pertains to the situation.”

 

“Wow, just asking,” Dean raised both hands placatingly, and made an aborted motion as though to pat Castiel on the shoulder, who was visibly bristling. “Nevermind. Ah, I’ll take this.” He swiped up a box and dropped it into Castiel’s hand.

 

Castiel, attention briefly diverted, looked from the box to him, brow knitted in a more perplexed frown. Dude was going to end up with a face like a shar pei if he wasn’t watching it soon. “Will there be anything else that you need assistance with?” he asked, all business again.

 

“No, uh, give me a moment.” Dean made his way over to where he thinks he spotted the lubricant section. “No KY? That’s a basic, dude.”

 

Castiel joins him, still wearing his permanent frown, watching disapprovingly as Dean tosses a bottle into the air and catches it just as neatly. “I do not recommend KY as a personal lubricant. Its antibacterial qualities may not make it as suited to be a personal lubricant as its popularity seems to denote. You may wish to consider purchasing a silicone based lube instead.”

 

“Right. Antibacterial. Organic lube?” Dean made a face, and put it back down. “Wow.”

 

He could feel Castiel’s disapproval upon him, and made a point of not looking at him while he scanned in his item, instead staring at the brochures and flyers on the counter.

 

“That will be $60 total,” Castiel said, and Dean dug for his wallet, counting out the notes and slapping it down on the counter. The corner of Castiel’s mouth tightened, but he counted the money, and printed out the receipt for him. “Will you require a bag? We are currently trying to give out less bags to help reduce waste in the environment.”

 

“Yeah no, I’ll just walk out with this dildo in public, no big deal,” Dean scowled. “Of course I need a bag, genius.”

 

“You are situated just across the road.” Castiel pointed out stubbornly, and in Dean’s opinion, unhelpfully. “It will take you no less than half a minute to cross the road and walk inside.”

 

“If I promise to recycle the bag, or whatever it is you green freaks do,” Dean flicked the corner of the box, sounding much calmer than he felt. “Will you give me a bag?”

 

Fifteen minutes later, Dean returned to his shop with his new toy, sans bag, but wrapped in a large sheet of newspaper that Castiel had retrieved from the drawers. He dropped it on the nearest shelf, and over the course of the next few days, it acquired a new place amongst the display pieces, and a price tag marked for clearance.

 

That was how Castiel found it after a week, walking back in on a Thursday and directing his frown towards Dean, again. This round, he purchased a plug, and walked back out the door without so much as a single line of polite conversation or a backward glance.

 

Dean spun his cheap ballpoint around, and scowled when it clattered to the countertop, feeling rather blindsided by it all. He felt as though he had been had, inexplicably, and it was beginning to piss him off. He had resolved to not meddle or interfere with Castiel’s affairs any further, and to wash his hands clean of him, and now Castiel had to walk right up to his front door to annoy him.

 

If this was the way Castiel wanted to go, Dean would step up to his game for him.

 

It then became a regular sort of thing: Castiel purchasing something from Dean, and Dean purchasing something from Castiel the next week. It got Dean strange looks from Castiel, and each time Dean would take the care to purchase something that in his personal private opinion, was much better than what Castiel chose. If Castiel got a dildo, he would get a dildo. If he got lube, he would get self-heating lube. And when he got back to his own shop, he would put them all up on what he now termed the clearance shelf, right at eye level so that Castiel would not miss it.

 

“You will be making a loss,” Castiel eventually said, eyeing the string of anal beads that he knew Dean had purchased from him a few days ago, marked down to less than half the price he bought it for.

 

“Its my business,” Dean shrugged easily. “We’re doing well enough. Are you buying that cock ring?”

 

After that, none of them ever mentioned it again. Dean took to walking Castiel tediously through their membership process just to annoy him, taking a perverse sort of delight each time the corner of Castiel’s mouth tightened in irritation. Castiel caught on soon not long after, but it didn’t matter. So long as he continued to get on Castiel’s nerves, it was enough for him, losing money and all that, including ignoring Sam’s strange faces whenever he dropped by the shop.

 

It was juvenile, but it was something to look forwards to, and Dean found that it gave him more motivation to work—not that he didn’t love his job before, but he threw himself fully into it, actively planning and drawing up new plans for his shop. He planned for collaborations, encouraged by the successful brief partnership during Valentine’s, and perhaps inspired or spurred by Castiel’s shopfront, started to look into renovations. Dean wasn’t exactly an expert on business, but he did take classes before, and occasionally did read up the texts that Sammy got back. If Castiel was catering to vanilla, mild beginners, then he would simply swing the other way. And perhaps, and Sammy would have an excuse to bitch at him for months to come, he might just look into expanding his business online to reach out to more audiences once he had settled his rock and mortar shop.

 

Thursday morning felt like a good sort of day, and it found him whistling cheerfully to the music blasting from Impala’s stereos. He was expecting Castiel to drop by after his own purchase of a G-spot vibrator last Tuesday, and was sort of looking forwards to agitating the man again, as well as to what he would be purchasing to top his own. There was always something about the man that made Dean want to push him further, rattle him till he set his jaw a certain way that meant he was trying his level best to be patient. He was childish, so what? He was full grown man, and if he wanted to be childish, so be it. If Castiel had a problem with it, Castiel could come to him and tell it to his face. And because it was such an engrossing topic to debate with himself internally, he didn’t notice the police car parked in front of Angels’ until he was halfway to unlocking his shop.

 

Nearly obscured by the police car, Castiel was standing there in his ugly trench coat and perpetual bed head, engaged in conversation with the same police officer who had politely come by his shop and not so politely dragged him to the station. He paused, key still in the lock, and as though sensing his curiosity, the both of them turned to look at him. Dean shook his head, and threw them a look that he hoped conveyed his innocence well enough across the distance separating them. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with him. He saw the officer shift, as though to start towards him, only to be stopped by Castiel’s hand on his arm. The man shook his head, lips moving in words that Dean couldn’t hear and who could only hope that he wasn’t attempting slander. The officer didn’t seem quite as convinced, and threw Dean a dirty look over his shoulder. He waited until the police officer drove away in his car, all the time watching Dean suspiciously, before jogging across the road, keys in hand.

 

“Hello,” Castiel said, voice gravelly rough, and Dean realized that he looked tired, shoulders slumped from the usually stiff line he held them in, shadows stark against pale skin beneath his eyes.

 

Behind him, broken glass littered the ground, colourful toys from the display strewn around. Inside, he could make out merchandise knocked to the floor in the dim interior, instead of Castiel’s usually orderly display.

 

“There was a break-in,” Castiel said tiredly, following Dean’s gaze. He breathed through his nose noisily, the closest to sighing Dean has ever seen him. “We have arrested the perpetrator. I have assured Michael that it has nothing to do with you, so you need not worry.”

 

“You alright?” Dean was unable to tear his eyes away from where the shattered glass had also destroyed the lettering on it, splintering the name for Castiel’s shop, and somehow there was something wrong about that. Who broke into a sex shop, after all? He was the one carrying the DVDs, not Castiel. The only type of media Castiel carried was some odd sort of relaxation music that he had once explained might help people unwind to get into the mood. “Did they take anything from you?”

 

Castiel shook his head, and tugged on his coat slightly. “I will be fine.”

 

“You look terrible,” Dean blurted, then paused, before barrelling onwards. “You live upstairs, don’t you? Are you safe? You look like you barely got any sleep.”

 

“No. To sleeping.” Castiel said, looking rather confused, trying to process Dean’s sudden concern. “Please, you need not concern yourself over this. I will be alright.”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Dean snapped, and Castiel’s gaze snapped to his face. “Do you need to do anything about this?” He gestured to the mess on the ground. “Put in some plastic until the glass gets repaired? Or can it wait?”

 

Castiel bit his lip, and then bent down to pick up a toy. “The glass will have to be swept up, but it is nothing that I cannot do by myself. Thank you for your concern, Dean. But your help is not needed.”

 

“Yeah, no,” Dean said, reaching over to take the toy from Castiel, then bending down to pick up the rest of them. “You just had a break-in, and there is no way you’re fine, especially when you are living right above your shop with this. Help me trash this, and I’ll help you sweep up the glass because you’re bitchy about accidentally hurting pedestrians, then you’re going to get something to eat, and we’ll put in something temporary for your shop until the repair guy gets here.”

 

Castiel looks stunned when Dean jerks his chin at the door, and as though on auto-pilot, moves to open it for him. “You may leave them in a… here, allow me.” He hurried in after Dean, pulling out a small empty box. “You do not have to… “ He paused, struggling with his words. “Help me with this.”

 

“Don’t I know it? You’re not paying me anything, after all.” Dean dusted his hands off on his jeans, and begun to hunt for a broom and a dustpan. “Go get some plastic sheets or whatever it is that you’re going to use to cover up that gigantic security breach. We gonna clean this up, then breakfast, and rest for you. In that order, arguments not accepted.”

 

“I do not understand,” Castiel said weakly, helplessly watching as Dean stalked past him with the retrieved broom and dustpan.

 

“This so hard it requires your understanding, genius?” Dean shot him a look, wry smile softening the harsh words. “Get us some trash bags lined with newspaper, then you can go back to looking pretty.”

 

Castiel thankfully left without another word, and Dean dutifully swept up the sidewalk, knocking out the rest of the glass so no one (note: Castiel) would cut themselves on the sharp edges. He emptied the glass shards into the plastic bag that Castiel held out for him, and then set him to toss it out while he taped up the now gaping hole in the storefront.

 

“The bins are around the side,” Castiel said instead, not looking at Dean. “I am not entirely helpless.” Pointedly, he ripped a section of tape loudly in front of him, and Dean backed off in surrender.

 

“Fine, but you had better not lock me out here when I show up with breakfast,” he said, then fled for the bins because Castiel looked as though he was considering murder with a pair of scissors.

 

He didn’t start questioning himself until he was in line for coffee and pastries, and suffered what Sam would calmly diagnose as a mini panic attack. Once outside, away from the too concerned gaze of the girl at the cashier, he clutched the paper cups and the bag of greasy breakfast food, and breathed. Slow in, slow out.

 

He had no idea what he was getting himself into. When had their mutually antagonistic existence-ship developed into something akin to friendship without his knowledge? He knew next to nothing about the man, other than the fact that he was extremely uptight and exacting at times, as well as possessing the ability to get under his skin no matter what. He scrubbed the back of a hand over his mouth, recalling Sam’s permanently skeptical expression whenever he started to talk about Castiel.

 

Then again, perhaps not.

 

He wondered if Castiel knew.

 

The front had been taped up with plastic sheets by the time Dean got back, the interior dim and too blurry to make out through the thick layers of plastic. The door wasn’t locked, however, and Dean let himself in. Castiel looked up, from where he had been in the middle of clean up, boxes in his arms.

 

“Someone will be by later to board up the window,” Castiel said, returning to his boxes. “They assure me that it will be replaced tomorrow.”

 

“That’s, good,” Dean fumbled with his tongue, because for a moment when the sunlight had fallen over Castiel, his eyes were impossibly blue. “Think you can spare a moment for breakfast?”

 

Castiel paused, then set down the boxes on the nearest available surface with a loud thump. “This way.”

 

He pushed past Dean, almost irritably, bending down to lock the front doors, before leaving through a side door, impatiently waiting for Dean to follow him, before locking it as well. It was no wonder Dean had never seen him leave through the front doors for lock up—there was a narrow flight of stairs leading up to the second storey of the building around the side. Castiel barely waited, stomping up the stairs in an almost angry silence, and then unlocking the door to his flat, stepped in without waiting for Dean.

 

Dean had to keep from gaping at his inhospitable behaviour and gritted his teeth, before somehow maneuvering Castiel’s doorknob into opening, and pushed in with the breakfast fare.

 

Castiel had his back towards him, shrugging off his trench coat easily and tossing it over the back of a chair in an easy, well-practiced motion. Dean had the distinct feeling that this wasn’t the same Castiel that he thought he knew downstairs. “Feel free to,” he rubbed the back of his neck, almost self-consciously, eyes taking in the living space, and then waved vaguely. “Sit anywhere you want.”

 

Dean carried the bags to the kitchen area and set it down on the worn surface of the small table. The space was well-lit by natural light pouring in from the windows, and sparsely decorated, an open planning space, areas separated by the placement of large furniture, and rugs on the floor, as well as hints of colour. Dean whistled. He hadn’t seen anyone come in to do any construction or remodelling at all, or perhaps it had simply flew over his head while he was engrossed in his skin mags.

 

“What?” Castiel growled, and for some reason, was looking offended.

 

“You did this yourself?” Dean was not so subtly checking the place out, examining a window frame missing its glass that acted as a divider. It was brilliant. He grinned. “Nice place.”

 

“Thank you,” Castiel ducked his head, a hint of pink on his cheeks. “I had help.”

 

“Don’t be so modest,” Dean said, running his hand along a rather rustic looking shelf, constructed from simple planks and wood. “This is beautiful.”

 

“Yes. I made it myself. I work with furniture in my spare time.” Castiel looked awkward in his own home, standing stiffly in the middle of it, hands making helpless little gestures by his side and constantly side-eyeing Dean. “I do believe you brought me breakfast.”

 

“Right. I uh, got you coffee. Black.” They sat down with a particularly loud screech from Dean’s chair, after Castiel tossed down white packets of sugar on the kitchen table. For a minute, there was nothing but the anticipated rustling of paper bags while they brought out the food, then Castiel looked pointedly at Dean. “What?”

 

“Do I need to call Michael? Have our suspicions been proven right, and that there is something you need to tell me about, Dean Winchester?” Castiel folds his hands before him, looking somber and serious. Before him lies a greasy sandwich, still in its wrapper: whole-grain toast with nuts, fried egg, bacon and melted cheese, with mashed avocado.

 

“What,” Dean forgot all about unwrapped his own sandwich, because Castiel just did not imply that he had been stalking him about his breakfast choices that he had bought him. “You eat out so much, and order the same thing every day that Jo—what?” He had to paused in his indignant protest, having seen too late the curl to the corner of Castiel’s mouth. “You fucking bitch.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel shook with suppressed laughter, hands clasped before him, but lost it when Dean threw a sugar packet at him.

 

“I buy you breakfast, and this is how you treat me.” Dean unwrapped the rest of his sandwich in disgust, and took a huge, greasy bite out of it. God bless the soul who created chicken fried steak sandwiches in the mornings.

 

Castiel was still smiling when he took a bite of his own sandwich, quiet filtering the space between them comfortably. It was nice, and Dean was loath to take the last bite of his sandwich, licking grease from his fingers. Cas was sipping his coffee, gazing out the windows across the living space. It was, oddly, domestic. Not wanting to break Cas’ strange reverie, Dean crumpled up his paper wrappers and began putting the rubbish back into the paper bags.

 

“I’m not sorry,” Castiel said, unmoving, gaze still fixed on a faraway object.

 

“For being a dick?” Dean swiped up the remains of Castiel’s breakfast, dumping it in with the rest. “Reckons.”

 

“I did not intend to stay. For long.” Castiel’s gaze dipped, then fixed upon Dean’s, and fuck, he really had to stop doing that before he somehow manages to turn Dean into stone. “I was merely passing through when I came to this town.”

 

He blinked, and Dean slowly sat back down at the table.

 

“My brother, Gabriel,” Castiel wrapped his hands around his own cup of coffee, pausing over his words carefully. “He had settled down and I had wanted to see how he was doing.”

 

“Then baker Gabriel, now chocolatier Gabriel?” Dean frowned, failing to see the resemblance between the short, boisterous man who ran his business loudly, and the outwardly quiet, stern Castiel before him. “That’s your brother?”

 

“Yes. Gabriel… he convinced me to stay. He did not, nor did I, expect myself to stay simply because I wanted to put you out of business.” Castiel said wryly, fingers tapping against the paper.

 

“Wow,” Dean pulled a face, but nodded, despite himself. “Real honest there, Cas.”

 

“You should have seen the way you were running your business then.” Castiel’s lips pulled into a disapproving line. “I had never been so disgusted in my life. You were rude, abrasive and uncouth. And your shop was… I believed I could do better.”

 

“You should probably quit while you’re ahead,” Dean said gruffly, eyes narrowed, and clutching his coffee a little too tightly. He was aware that while it was true, he wasn’t yet ready to hear it from someone else’s lips.

 

Castiel instead turned towards the windows, something soft in his expression. “There was a lease available, right across your shop. The rent was reasonable, and I was tired of travelling. I have enough for a small business, so.” Across the little space Castiel had carved out for himself, he could see the roof of In & Out, and a peek of a languid blue sky above. “It certainly wasn’t what Gabriel expected of me.”

 

“Well,” Dean shifted in his chair, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I do hope that you will stay. We’re a friendly town, and everyone is pretty much enamoured with you. Although I will put you out of business before you do mine, so you better come up with backup plans. You’ll fit right in. And its a nice having a place to yourself. Travelling all over—” he spread his hands. “It gets exhausting.”

 

“I shouldn’t keep you,” Castiel said suddenly, breaking the moment by sitting up. “You should not have to neglect your business for mine.”

 

Dean caught him by the wrist just as Castiel lurched out of his chair. “Slow down, you’ve just had a break in. The town could do without their happy toys for a day.”

 

“The glass.”

 

“He’s coming by later, right? If you need someone to watch over your shop for you, I can help you. Take it as a gesture of goodwill. Make up for my,” he rolled his eyes. “Rudeness.”

 

“It was not all bad,” Castiel said, amused.

 

“Right. Me, shop, and you, bed.” He spun Castiel around to where he thinks his bed might be. “Catch up on your sleep so you can try putting me out of business proper, or possibly in your dreams. Do you need to replace your locks?”

 

“They will not try breaking into my house,” Castiel smiled. “I am not entirely defenceless. As the perpetrator had unfortunately learnt last night.”

 

“Right. Good.” Dean’s brain was doing this funny thing where it was focusing on the way Castiel was looking at him from beneath his lashes, and he forcibly looked away. “Go get your rest. I’ll be downstairs. Holler if someone tries to murder you.”

 

“Keys are by the door. And he only wanted bragging rights. Youth and inebriation are an alarming combination.”

 

“Not all youths,” Dean called back, picking up the keys from a bowl by the door. Castiel had already disappeared behind a rather enormous wardrobe, presumably where it was obscuring the sleeping area from the rest of the space.

 

“Leave, Dean,” Castiel sounded like he was smiling, and Dean escaped through the door when a shirt was tossed from behind the wardrobe to land in a heap on another chair.

 

The town buzzed with the news for a week. Sam looked skeptical, as usual, when Dean mentioned that he was merely helping Castiel out. The glass was replaced without issue, paid for by the perpetrator, who left town with the fear of Michael in him (Dean did not blame him, but he deserved it). There was a brief period when everyone dropped by to visit Castiel in his shop with various food offerings, Gabriel included, and when it became old news, eventually died away.

 

Dean was kept busy with his own plans for the shop, spending most of his time in his shop and asleep the minute his head hit his pillow. He saw little of Castiel, who was holed up in Angels, and often seen fussing around his window display after lunch.

 

In & Out was later closed for a week while the renovations for the shop was ongoing, Dean taking the time to also work out something for his online business, with help. When the shop opened again, Sam looked impressed despite himself. He soaked up the compliments, and then tossed Sam out when his brother attempted to purchase a box of condoms—there were still things he didn’t need to know about his brother, and one should never cross that line for the sake of one’s sanity.

 

And then, on Friday, he looked up from his accounts book right into Castiel’s bleary gaze, the man gently setting a cock ring on the counter.

 

“What.” Dean blurted, gaping at him.

 

“I would like to purchase this.” Castiel didn’t look away, instead dipping his head to indicate the cock ring.

 

“What,” Dean said again, because the word bore repeating. “Cas, what the—I thought this was over! What the fuck?” His chair hit the floor with four legs, and scraped against it loudly.

 

“Is this because I have not been by for three weeks?” Castiel didn’t look affected, calmly watching him.

 

“The fuck,” Dean said, then pointed a finger vehemently at him. “I won, okay. I won.”

 

“Just because you were the last one to make the purchase in this… “ Castiel tilted his head slightly. “Does not make you a winner.”

 

“What—”

 

“And you were the one who made it into a rivalry competition.” Castiel cut through his protests by digging for his wallet. “I would still like to purchase this.”

 

“You mean you weren’t just buying these to fuck with me?” Dean squinted at him, ringing him up. “Because seriously, what are you doing with all of it? You don’t put them on clearance, I don’t see them in your shop anywhere, what?”

 

“I,” Castiel paused, and flushed slightly, licking his lips. “I use them. For their intended purpose, of course. Why?” And here, he glanced up at Dean, coyly. “What did you think I was doing with them?”

 

What came out of Dean’s mouth resembled a duck being trodden on, and he rang Castiel through in silence. Castiel, who refused to let the matter lie.

 

“Go on.”

 

“Go—uh,” Dean was looking everywhere but at Castiel’s smug expression. “Membership?”

 

“No.”

 

“Its $10 total.”

 

“The other one.”

 

“Goods sold are non-refundable nor exchangeable.”

 

Castiel shook his head ruefully.

 

“Uh, instructions are, if you need,” Dean could feel the back of his neck heating up. “Proper usage.”

 

“I think,” Castiel considers, watching him carefully. “I do know how to use them, but I might use some assistance, just in case?”

 

“This?” Dean stares back, caught in Castiel’s blue eyes to look elsewhere. His throat felt terribly dry, and he could probably use a drink or three. “Uh, try not end up cutting your own dick off?”

  
“Amongst others,” Castiel smiles, and Dean finds himself smiling right back.

**Author's Note:**

> It probably wasn't my best idea to browse tumblr when sick. Ideas get stuck in my head and I won't feel at peace until its out.
> 
> I got the names for Dean's establishment from Reddit. I think its a fast food chain in America? Go me.


End file.
